"Paint me as I am," said Cromwell,
Rough with age, and gashed with wars--
"Show my visage as you find it--
Less than truth my soul abhors!"
This was he whose mustering phalanx
Swept the foe at Marston Moor;
This was he whose arm uplifted
From the dust the fainting poor.
God had made his face uncomely--
"Paint me as I am," he said.
So he lives upon the canvas
Whom they chronicled as _dead_!
Simple justice he requested
At the artist's glowing hands,
"Simple justice!" from his ashes
Cries a voice that still commands.
And, behold! the page of History,
Centuries dark with Cromwell's name,
Shines to-day with thrilling luster
From the light of Cromwell's fame!
* * * * *
[FROM THE EXAMINER.]